


Pax

by Stella_STARgazer



Series: Prudentia [2]
Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Comfort, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-12 21:14:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16003424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stella_STARgazer/pseuds/Stella_STARgazer
Summary: Joan visits Vera at home after the riot in 3x1.





	Pax

**Author's Note:**

> Part two in the "Prudentia" series. Part one is titled "Bellum".
> 
> *NOTE: For the purpose of this fic, Vera was attacked with a shiv, not a syringe during the riot.

“I do...I do care.”

* * *

 

  
Freshly cleansed from the stench of war, spoils of victory stowed for safe keeping, a soldier makes her way to a semi-familiar land, this time in the name of peace. 

Hours ago, seeing Vera’s petrified gaze staring into the CCTV, in a position of physical danger, had instantly catapult her back into memories of Jianna. A crippling tightness had consumed her chest and she had to fight the unexpected, overwhelming urge to immediately rush to Vera’s aide and protect the petite younger woman. She knew the move would be viewed as weakness though, that the prisoners would (rightly) interpret it as fondness and use it as leverage later, so she had resisted. However, pride prevented her from giving in to their demands and in the end the gamble proved almost deadly. Vera had escaped, but not without physical and emotional injury.

Though she’d never admit it may have been the wrong decision, a familiar sense of failure had begun to creep in, alongside the bitter hatred for the mangy bitches responsible for the assault. In due time they would pay for their sins, God herself would be sure of it, but now was the time to see to her Deputy. A sense of duty, so she tells herself, compels the gentle knock at Vera’s door.

Inside a weary woman stirs, aching legs carry her bird-like frame to the entrance of her modest home. She opens it slowly, red-rimmed eyes grow wide with surprise as she sees the mighty knightess standing on the step.

“Joan...what are you doing here?” Her tone hoarse after hours spent crying in solitude as the weight of the afternoon’s events came crashing down on her narrow shoulders. She had wanted to be strong, thought she could be, but the tears had defied her resolve as soon as she crossed the threshold into her home and found herself alone with the memory playing on loop.

“I’ve just come to see how you were doing.” Joan gently inquires. Worry plucks at her stoney heart as she eyes the shell-shocked state of her Deputy and she silently curses Channing for pulling her attention away to deal with his annihilation first.

“You didn’t have to do that, but I...I’m fine, thank you.” Vera replies shakily as she tries to put on a brave face. She aches to please the Governor, no matter how raw it makes her feel, but doesn’t realize it’s her vulnerability that Joan truly covets.

“Vera, you don’t appear fine. Perhaps you’d like a bit of company?” She tilts her head in an effort to meet her timid ocean gaze. Eventually the tiny woman steps aside and allows Joan entry.

Joan follows her into the sitting room and waits as Vera takes a seat on the couch, legs curled up beneath her as she pulls a throw pillow into her lap and begins picking at a loose thread. Her hair is pulled back in a low ponytail and she’s dressed in pale pink pajama pants with dainty white polka dots and a white vest top that hugs her petite frame. She looks years younger, far more fragile than she does in the starched prison uniform.

Joan’s reminded again of Jianna, and the similarities between the two very different women. Both younger than she, far more delicate, both of whom produce within her an equal sense of feeling duty bound and compelled to protect. The open vulnerability on the smaller woman’s face tugs at a deeply buried emotion within Joan’s stonewalled heart. It unsettles her and sparks her curiosity in equal measure.

As one would approach a wounded animal, she cautiously takes a seat on the opposite end of the couch. “Are you in pain?” she eventually asks with a softness that betrays her stern facade.

Vera looks at her with a half-hearted shrug but admits the truth, knowing the older woman will see right through her feeble lies. “My whole body aches and my neck has been throbbing off and on since the medication Nurse Atkins gave me wore off.”

“May I have a look?” Espresso eyes gesture to the bandage across Vera’s neck. A bit surprised by the request, Vera nervously consents with a quiet nod and reaches up to remove the patch of gauze and medical tape.

Sliding across the couch, Joan leans in closer to exam the wound left by the shoddily crafted shiv. Rage boils just beneath the surface as she sees the angry gash maring Vera’s beautiful olive skin. Flashes of the masked dogs dance behind her eyes and she’s momentarily lost in her vivid daydreams of revenge. After a few moments, Vera nervously clears her throat and she’s pulled from her vengeful haze.

“This laceration is quite deep at one end. It really should have a few sutures placed.” She states as she continues to visually inspect the injury. Her body tenses when a firm grip seizes her knee and wide ocean eyes peer down a button nose.

“No!” Vera barks, her harsh tone propelled by fear. She softens her grip and clears her throat as she tries again. “Sorry. I…I don’t want to do that. I...don’t care much for hospitals...not since mum.” Her gaze falls to her lap and she releases Joan’s knee, embarrassed by her own silly fear and certain that the Governor will patronize her for it.

For a moment, Joan watches her curiously. Normally, such a juvenile phobia would drive her to irritation, but something about Vera and her open vulnerability provokes an oft guarded gentleness to prevail.

“Then please allow me to properly dress it, to reduce the risk of infection.” She speaks of practicality, but  _ caring _ is what truly compels the offer.

“You...I don’t want you to have to do that.” Embarrassment colors her olive cheeks a dusty rose.

“Do you have a first aid kit and exam gloves?”

“Well...yes.”

“It’s settled then. Collect those and a flannel and meet me in the kitchen. I’ll have proper lighting in there.” Before Vera can protest, Joan’s up from the couch and out of the room.

When Vera makes it to the kitchen, it smells of bleach and Joan is crouched at the sink, replacing the cleaning products in the cupboard below it. She quickly wipes the amused smile from her face as Joan rises and turns toward her.

“Have a seat on the stool.” She gestures with a nod before turning back to the sink to wash her hands once more.

She snaps the latex gloves into place and the usual dark heat that pools in her stomach is replaced with a softer, though just as pleasing warmth that radiates from within. It catches her by surprise and momentarily she falters, uncertain if the difference is caused by the change of situation or Vera herself. She has no desire to analyze at the moment, so with a deep inhale she regains control and proceeds to collect the necessary supplies from the first aid kit, dousing a pad of gauze with antiseptic wash.

“I need to clean it first, so this may sting a little.” She looks to Vera with a small, closed mouth smile.

Perched atop the stool, Vera’s knees fall open. They exchange a long, silent stare before Joan finally steps between them to get close enough to dress the wound. Her hip brushes a tense inner thigh and Vera spreads her knees wider, offering a nervous apology. A buzzing tingle joins the heat building deep in Joan’s belly and she tries to ignore the pleasing sensation as she works in silence.

Pressing the gauze to the wound, she squeezes gently to release a flood of the cleansing liquid. Vera winces against the sting, but remains still as Joan continues; her touch is shockingly tender for such a formidable, domineering woman. Returning to the sink, she soaks a handful of cotton swabs in cold water and lays them out on the flannel atop the counter. One by one, she presses them gingerly against the laceration, flushing it with the water as the final step in the cleansing process.

Runnels of the cold liquid seep down Vera’s decolletage and disappear beneath the collar of her shirt. Rigid points rise atop the peaks beneath the thin white cotton and olive cheeks grow pink, though she tries to keep a neutral expression. Joan controls the smirk that itches to crawl across her wide lips. Though she finds the image curiously arousing, she’s certain Vera’s far too vanilla to entertain Sapphic daydreams. Joan finishes dressing the wound as Vera gnaws on her bottom lip. With the final piece of tape secured in place, Joan pauses to admire her handiwork. Looking up, she meets Vera’s grateful, reverent expression and is surprised to be so moved by her simple beauty.

“Thank you, Joan.” Apatite eyes grow glossy with unshed tears.

“There’s no need.” She reassures with a small smile.

Suddenly, Vera reaches forward and pulls her into a firm hug, slender arms wrapping snuggly around her ribcage and her small face nestled tightly against the smooth alabaster skin of Joan’s collarbone. She freezes, feels overwhelmed and completely sated all at once. A long moment passes but Vera doesn’t move, nor does her grip slacken. Slowly, Joan finds herself relaxing beneath the embrace and an odd desire eventually consumes her.

She removes the latex gloves from her pale, killing hands and after another moment’s hesitation, she gently returns the hold. One arm wraps tenderly around Vera’s slender back, an exposed ivory palm cupping a smooth olive shoulder. The other hand comes to rest against the gentle chestnut waves of Vera’s hair, where her thumb takes up a steady stroking rhythm. Her heart races wildly, but she maintains her position, grateful that Vera remains still and quiet in her arms. She loses track of time as she allows herself to get lost in an embrace that she hasn’t felt in decades. The steady rise and fall of Vera’s breathing against her body lulls her into an almost dream-like state.

Eventually the younger woman begins to stir in her arms and she loosens her grasp. Vera pulls away enough to lift her gaze, but her arms stay loosely draped around Joan’s waist. She looks up to dark espresso eyes with a curious expression and Joan simply stares, speechless under the intense look on Vera’s face. She realizes now that her ability to deny her fondness is slowly beginning to crumble.

In an unexpected move, a small hand reaches up and gently tucks a curtain of coal behind the shell of Joan’s ear, then falls to linger along the column of her porcelain throat. Eager seafoam eyes falls to wide, bow lips and with an aching slowness she leans in and captures them in a timid kiss. She pulls away and shyly gnaws at her bottom lip as she nervously looks up to meet Joan’s shocked expression. Joan stares as the heat in her belly quickly blossoms and begins to radiate into her chest, threatening to thaw her ice-cold heart.

To Vera’s surprise and immense delight, Joan eventually leans forward and returns the kiss, allowing it to slowly build and deepen until they both pull apart wide-eyed and breathless.

Slipping from the stool, Vera extends a hand and when Joan accepts it, she leads her to the bedroom.


End file.
